Calcutta
March 1971

IT WAS MIDNIGHT. Śrīla Prabhupāda sat on a pillow behind his low desk, his light the only one on in the building. All the other devotees were in bed. On the desk before him rested the dictating machine and a volume of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam with Bengali commentary. A small framed picture of his spiritual master, Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, sat between two small vases of roses and asters. On the floor beyond the desk was the broad mat covered with white cotton fabric, where a few hours before, devotees and guests had sat.

But now he was alone. Although usually he retired at ten, rising three or four hours later to translate, tonight he had not rested, and his Bhāgavatam lay closed, his dictating machine covered.

He had sent two of his disciples, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Bali-mardana, to purchase land in Māyāpur. Six days had passed, however, and still they had neither returned nor sent word. He had told them not to return until they had completed the transaction, but six days was more than enough time. He was anxious, thinking constantly of his two disciples.

A breeze arrived, carrying the fragrance of nīm trees through the open window. The night was becoming cool, and Prabhupāda wore a light cādara around his shoulders. Absorbed in thought, leaning against the white bolster pillow, he paid little attention to the familiar sights in his room. A clay jug with drinking water sat beside him, and a potted tulasī plant sat upon a small wooden pedestal. The electricity, off most of the day and night, was now on, and moths and other insects hovered around the bare bulb overhead. A lizard patrolled the ceiling, occasionally darting forward near the light to capture an insect.

Why were Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Bali-mardana taking so long? It had been more than just a wait of six days; he had been trying to obtain land in Māyāpur for years. And this time the prospects had been excellent. He had clearly instructed Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Bali-mardana, and by now they should have returned. The delay could mean a complication, or even danger.

The land they were trying for was a nine-bīgha plot on Bhaktisiddhānta Road, less than a mile from the birthsite of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu. The Sek brothers, Muslim farmers who owned the plot, had been asking a high price. Only recently had a Calcutta lawyer familiar with Navadvīpa been able to seriously negotiate a fair price. The Sek brothers had settled for 14,500 rupees, and Prabhupāda had authorized withdrawal of the funds from his bank in Krishnanagar. Thus Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Bali-mardana had left for Māyāpur, while Prabhupāda had remained in Calcutta, carrying on with his affairs but thinking often of the activities of his disciples in Māyāpur. Their mission was very important to him, and he kept them in his mind, personally blessing them with his concern.

Prabhupāda wanted an ISKCON center in Māyāpur; it was a desire that had increased within him as his movement had increased throughout the years. He could easily visit or live in Māyāpur; that was no problem. But he needed a place for his disciples. His spiritual master had ordered him to preach in the West; and now with the success of his Kṛṣṇa consciousness society, the Western Vaiṣṇavas required a center in Māyāpur where they could reside and worship and receive the immense benefit of the holy dhāma. Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had stressed the great importance of Māyāpur, and some of his sannyāsī disciples had temples there. Why shouldn’t the International Society for Krishna Consciousness also be able to take shelter of Māyāpur?

Since birth, Prabhupāda had been aware of the significance of Lord Caitanya and His dhāma, Śrī Māyāpur. He had grown up in Calcutta, where everyone knew of Lord Caitanya, and because his father, Gour Mohan De, had been a pure devotee of Lord Caitanya, from childhood he had sung the Bengali songs of Gaura-Nitāi and Their pastimes in the land of Gauḍa. He had imbibed deeply the teachings and pastimes of Lord Caitanya, especially after meeting his spiritual master in Calcutta in 1922.

Lord Caitanya had spent His first twenty-four years in Māyāpur and Navadvīpa. Yet since His manifest pastimes there almost five hundred years ago, the places of those pastimes had been obscured, the Lord’s birthsite lost, and His teachings confused and misused. Despite the disciplic line of pure devotees from Lord Caitanya, not until the advent of Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, the father of Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, did Lord Caitanya’s saṅkīrtana movement and pure teachings begin to emerge. Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura published many books and preached to reestablish the intellectual, moral, and spiritual integrity of Caitanya Vaiṣṇavism. He researched and explored the land of Navadvīpa, ascertaining the exact birthsite of the Lord. Citing Vedic evidence, he established that many previous incarnations of Viṣṇu had enacted pastimes in Navadvīpa.

Not only did Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura document Navadvīpa’s past glory, but he also foresaw its glorious future, when a religion based on the teachings of Lord Caitanya would emerge and spread throughout the world, and when European and American Vaiṣṇavas would throng to Navadvīpa to join their Bengali brothers in chanting “Jaya Śacīnandana!”* The time would come, Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura wrote, when in the land of Navadvīpa on the plain of the Ganges a magnificent temple would arise, proclaiming to the world the glories of Lord Caitanya.

* “All glories to Lord Caitanya, the son of Śacī!”

Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, carrying out the desires of his father and preceptor, Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura, had formed the Gaudiya Math for propagating the teachings of Lord Caitanya and the glories of Navadvīpa-dhāma. He had induced a wealthy disciple to spend his fortune for erecting a temple at Lord Caitanya’s birthsite in Māyāpur, and he had constructed a kīrtana hall commemorating the place of Lord Caitanya’s kīrtanas. He had also constructed his own residence in Māyāpur. He had built temples throughout India – sixty-four in all – but because he wanted the English-speaking world especially to take to Lord Caitanya’s movement, he had emphasized as first priority the publishing and distributing of Kṛṣṇa conscious literature.

Śrīla Prabhupāda, sitting in his room in the Calcutta temple, shared the great vision of Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī and Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura. Yet to enact this great vision he had to take practical steps, and he was content to take them in the most humble way. A devotee should not simply daydream, expecting Kṛṣṇa to accomplish everything with “miracles.”

Prabhupāda, however, was not dreaming idly. Working for years alone in India, he had held his plan of going to the West, and Kṛṣṇa had at last fulfilled that desire. In America, in whatever circumstances and with whatever small facility Kṛṣṇa had provided, he had preached. And slowly, step by step, he had met with success, realizing his vision of a worldwide society of devotees. Always he had kept his greater vision in mind, as every step forward had given him deeper satisfaction and had brought him closer to fulfilling his mission.

Prabhupāda sometimes told the story of a poor potter who dreamed of expanding his business and becoming fabulously rich. As the potter slept one night, he dreamed of how much land and how many houses he would have and of how he would have a beautiful wife. When the potter considered that perhaps the wife would quarrel with him, he became angry and said, “If my wife fights with me, I will kick her!” And kicking, he broke the only two pots in his stock and was reduced to nothing.

Whether chanting or writing, or reading, or preaching, Prabhupāda had been absorbed in his plans for spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness and fulfilling the dream of the past ācāryas. Now he was anxious to complete the next step, and for this he was waiting up past midnight, meditating on his two disciples and their important mission.

As Prabhupāda sat, rapt in thought, the only sounds were the usual sounds of the night: mice within the walls, a brahmacārī snoring on the veranda, and in the distance the night watchman making his rounds, his stick striking the street. There were no cars, and only an occasional wooden ricksha clattered along the potholed street.

Prabhupāda wondered if perhaps his boys had been robbed. Before sending them off, he had shown Tamāla Kṛṣṇa how to carry money around his waist in a makeshift cloth money belt. But it had been a great deal of money, and robberies were not uncommon around Navadvīpa. Or perhaps there had been some other delay. Sometimes in land negotiations involving large sums of money, the court would require that a clerk record the denomination and serial number of every note exchanged. Or perhaps the train had broken down.

Suddenly Prabhupāda heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone opened the outer door and now walked along the veranda just outside. A soft knock.

“Yes, who is it?” Prabhupāda asked. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa entered and prostrated himself before Śrīla Prabhupāda.

“So,” Prabhupāda asked, “what is your news?”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa looked up triumphantly. “The land is yours!”

Prabhupāda leaned back with a sigh. “All right,” he said. “Now you can take rest.”

London
August 1971
Prabhupāda had asked the Indian high commissioner for the United Kingdom to petition Prime Minister Indira Gandhi to attend ISKCON’s upcoming cornerstone-laying ceremony in Māyāpur. Already Prabhupāda had instructed all his G.B.C. secretaries to attend the ceremony, and he had asked the devotees to invite many prominent citizens of Calcutta. Writing to his disciples in India, he said that if they could not get Indira Gandhi to come, they should at least get the governor of Bengal, Sri S. S. Dhavan.

Meanwhile, Prabhupāda was meeting in London with several of his disciples experienced in architecture and design; he wanted them to draft plans for his Māyāpur project. Nara-Nārāyaṇa had built Ratha-yātrā carts and designed temple interiors, Ranchor had studied architecture, and Bhavānanda had been a professional designer, but Prabhupāda himself conceived the plans for the Māyāpur buildings. He then told his three-man committee to provide sketches and an architect’s model; he would immediately begin raising funds and securing support in India for the project. To the devotees who heard Prabhupāda’s plans, this seemed the most ambitious ISKCON project ever.

While taking his morning walks in Russell Square, Prabhupāda would point to various buildings and ask how high they were. Finally he announced one morning that the main temple in Māyāpur should be more than three hundred feet high! Māyāpur’s monsoon floods and sandy soil would create unique difficulties, he said, and the building would have to be built on a special foundation, a sort of floating raft. A civil engineer later confirmed this.

The first building, Prabhupāda said, should be a large guesthouse, four stories high, and his design, although not strictly conforming to any one school of architecture, resembled most that of Rajasthan. He wanted a pink-and-rust colored building with many arches and a wide marble veranda on each floor except the ground floor. The building should run east-west, so that the sun would pass lengthwise over it and not shine directly into the building’s broad front. Southerly breezes would cool the guesthouse in summer. The building should be equipped with electric fans and lights, modern toilets and showers, and the rooms should be furnished, spacious, and well ventilated.

This guesthouse should be built as soon as possible, Prabhupāda said; then other buildings would follow. He wanted residential buildings for five hundred devotees, a large prasādam hall seating several thousand, a kitchen complex, and a gośālā (a shelter for the cows that would pasture in nearby fields). In time ISKCON would acquire adjoining land and develop parks, with flower gardens, trees and shrubs, fountains, walkways, and arbors.

The main building, the colossal Mayapur Chandrodaya Mandir, was to be no less than three hundred feet high and costing perhaps tens of millions of dollars. Prabhupāda’s description astounded the architects as well as the devotees; it sounded grander than the United States Capitol or St. Peter’s Cathedral. The temple’s central dome would house a three-dimensional model of the universe. The design, however, would be based on the Vedic description and would depict not only the material universe but also the spiritual universe.

Entering the main hall, a person would look up and see the planets situated just as Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam describes, beginning with the hellish planets, then the middle planets, wherein the earth is situated, then the heavenly planets of the demigods, and then Brahmaloka, the highest planet in the material world. Above Brahmaloka, the observer would see the abode of Lord Śiva, and above that the spiritual sky, or brahmajyoti. Within the spiritual effulgence of the brahmajyoti would be the self-illuminating Vaikuṇṭha planets, inhabited by eternally liberated souls. And highest of all would be the supreme planet of Kṛṣṇaloka, where God in His original eternal form enjoys His pastimes with His most confidential devotees.

The temple would also house a miniature palace in which the Deities of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa would reside, surrounded by silks and pillars of silver, gold, and jewels. The Mayapur Chandrodaya Mandir and the Māyāpur city would be ISKCON’s world headquarters.

And why such a fabulous architectural wonder as this in such an obscure part of the world? The answer, Prabhupāda explained, was that Māyāpur was actually not obscure; it seemed so only from the mundane perspective. To mundane vision, that which was central seemed remote. The soul and the next life seemed remote, while the body and immediate sense gratification seemed central. By establishing the Temple of Human Understanding in Māyāpur, Śrīla Prabhupāda would be directing the materialistic world’s attention back to the true center.

Any sincere visitor would be charmed by the beauty of ISKCON’s Māyāpur project and would perceive that here indeed was the spiritual world. And the devotees living in Māyāpur, by remaining constantly immersed in singing Hare Kṛṣṇa kīrtana and discussing the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, would be able to convince any intelligent visitor that the teachings of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu were the highest truth. The devotees would explain the philosophy of the Absolute Truth, which would enable visitors to comprehend actual spiritual truth beyond sectarian religious dogma. Furthermore, the continuous Hare Kṛṣṇa kīrtana and the blissful devotees engaged in a wide variety of services to Lord Kṛṣṇa would demonstrate that bhakti-yoga was the simplest, most direct process for meditating on the Supreme Personality of Godhead. While staying in ISKCON’s Māyāpur city, a person would quickly become a devotee of the Lord and begin chanting and dancing in ecstasy.

Śrīla Prabhupāda was demonstrating how the world could be spiritualized by linking material things with the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Kṛṣṇa, through bhakti-yoga. And why shouldn’t such spiritual feats surpass the achievements of the materialists?

Prabhupāda was sorry to learn through the Indian high commissioner that the prime minister could not attend the cornerstone-laying ceremony in Māyāpur. Yet he took it as Kṛṣṇa’s desire. He said he would invite a prominent Vaiṣṇava to officiate, or he might do it himself. “On the whole,” he wrote, “it was Lord Caitanya’s desire that a Vaiṣṇava shall lay down the cornerstone instead of asking some material man or woman to perform the holy work.”

The monsoons came, and the Ganges spilled over her banks, flooding the entire ISKCON Māyāpur property. Acyutānanda Swami had built a straw and bamboo hut where Prabhupāda was soon to stay, but the waters rose until Acyutānanda Swami had to live in the bamboo rafters. He wrote Prabhupāda that had it not been for Bhaktisiddhānta Road* the damage would have been extensive. Prabhupāda replied,

* The elevated road that runs before ISKCON’s property and the birthplace of Lord Caitanya, serving as a dike against the Ganges.

Yes, we were saved by Srila Bhaktisiddhanta Road. We shall always expect to be saved by His Divine Grace Srila Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Goswami Maharaj Prabhupada. Always pray to His Lotus Feet. Whatever success we have had in preaching Lord Chaitanya’s mission all over the world is only due to His mercy.

New Delhi
November 10, 1971
The car pulled out from the crowd in front of the airport terminal. Prabhupāda, sitting in the back seat, his bamboo cane against his knee, his hand in his bead bag, talked with his Delhi disciples. As the car moved through the broad avenues of New Delhi, Prabhupāda removed two knee-length flower garlands from around his neck and placed them beside him on the seat. It was midday, and the November climate was pleasant. Prabhupāda had arrived from Calcutta just in time for the ten-day ISKCON paṇḍāl festival, beginning the next day.

One of the devotees mentioned how fitting it had been that the mayor of New Delhi, Mr. Hans Raj Gupta, had greeted Prabhupāda at the airport. Prabhupāda smiled.

In his speech before Mayor Gupta and a gathering at the airport, Prabhupāda had explained India’s duty of performing welfare work for the rest of the world. He had also described how, at age twenty-five, he had met his Guru Mahārāja and had then received the order to carry Lord Caitanya’s message to the English-speaking world. Explaining why he had waited until he was seventy before going West, he had remarked, “I was trying to become a successful tool for preaching Lord Caitanya’s message.” Hundreds of thousands of preachers were needed now, as the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement was spreading throughout the world. “And the black men are also dancing,” Prabhupāda had said. “And they are asking the Indian people, ‘Why you and the swamis do not give us this sublime method?’ ”

Delhi was the third Indian city Prabhupāda had visited since his return from Africa a month ago. His first stop, Bombay, had begun roughly. Śyāmasundara had neglected to carry Śrīla Prabhupāda’s inoculation card, so immigration officials had denied Prabhupāda entry into India, quarantining him at the Bombay airport hospital for ten days.

Confined to a suite with an adjoining veranda overlooking a garden, Prabhupāda had resigned himself to a more limited sphere of activity. Still, each morning after breakfast he had conducted a dialogue with Śyāmasundara about certain leading Western philosophers: Śyāmasundara would present a particular philosophy, and Prabhupāda would discuss it in light of the Vedic view. Then, with only one day left before the end of the ten-day quarantine period, the inoculation card had arrived, and Prabhupāda had been released.

Immediately he had left for Calcutta and a series of kīrtana and lecture programs at Desh Priya Park. He had stayed in Calcutta two and a half weeks, appreciating the location of the ISKCON temple at Albert Road in the heart of what had once been the sāhab (European) section. “Now I am bringing the sāhabs back to the sāhab quarter,” Prabhupāda had said, “but this time they are all coming as Vaiṣṇavas. You should never give up this place.”

Some of the Calcutta devotees had complained to Śrīla Prabhupāda that the temple was being mismanaged and that, due to insufficient income, their diet was inadequate. When Prabhupāda had questioned the temple leaders, one devotee had replied, “Śrīla Prabhupāda, I was simply trying to execute your will.”

“Is it my will,” Prabhupāda had asked, “that all the devotees should be disturbed?”

He had settled the differences, arranged for an improved diet, and had even recommended a democratic election of temple officers. But he had also explained that because Kṛṣṇa consciousness was such an important mission, the devotees should cooperate, even if there were discrepancies. The material world is like an ocean, he had said, and there would always be waves.

During this visit to Calcutta, Prabhupāda had also spoken of his plans for Māyāpur. Nara-Nārāyaṇa had built a scale model of the building ISKCON would construct on the newly acquired property, and Prabhupāda had shown it to all his guests and had asked them to help. Seeing Prabhupāda’s absorption in this project, Girirāja had volunteered to help in any way required. “It seems the two things you want most,” Girirāja had said, “are for the books to be distributed and to build a temple at Māyāpur.”

“Yes,” Prabhupāda had said, smiling. “Yes, thank you.”

When Prabhupāda arrived at the home of Mr. Ram Niwas Dandaria in New Delhi, a waiting reporter interviewed him.

“I understand,” said the reporter, “that by ‘Kṛṣṇa’ you mean some eternal principle.”

“I do not mean a principle,” Prabhupāda replied. “I mean a person like you and me.” Prabhupāda was explaining Lord Kṛṣṇa as the Supreme Person when suddenly sirens began sounding.

“Blackout! Blackout!” cried the reporter and others in the house. War between Pakistan and India had been imminent for weeks, and air raid drills and warnings were now commonplace in Delhi.

“Sir” – the reporter spoke tensely in the darkened room – “this is the presence of reality. We are being threatened by this fight with Pakistan. The siren is the ugly reality coming for us.”

“We are always in the ugly reality,” Prabhupāda said, “ – twenty-four hours a day. Suppose there is no blackout? Still, if you go in the street, there is no guarantee that you will get home. In this way, you are always in the ugly reality. Why do you say only this blackout? This is just one of the features of this ugly reality. That’s all.”

Reporter: “Yes, but at the moment …”

Prabhupāda: “You do not realize that you are in ugly reality twenty-four hours a day? Padaṁ padaṁ yad vipadām. There is danger at every step.”

Reporter: “I know, sir, but this is collective, national danger. Have you anything to offer us as a remedy?”

Prabhupāda: “Kṛṣṇa consciousness is our only remedy. Take to this process, and you will be happy.”

Reporter: “Sir, I think someone should go to the Yahya Khan [the president of Pakistan].”

Prabhupāda: “What benefit will you derive by going to Yahya Khan?”

Reporter: “Someone is out to kill me.”

Prabhupāda: “But suppose Yahya Khan does not kill you? Will you be safe? Then what is the use to go to Yahya Khan? You will die today or tomorrow. If you want to save yourself, then go to Kṛṣṇa. That is our proposition. Even if you go to Yahya Khan, and he does not fight, then you mean to say that you will live forever? What is the use of flattering Yahya Khan? Flatter Kṛṣṇa, so that you may be saved perpetually. Why don’t you do that?”

Reporter: “I was only thinking in terms of collective security. I can see your point.”

Prabhupāda: “You should know that you are always in danger.”

Reporter: “Yes, sir, we agree. The late Einstein said the same thing.”

Prabhupāda: “That is our position, and Kṛṣṇa says, ‘I will save you.’ Therefore, let us go to Kṛṣṇa. Why go to Yahya Khan?”

Reporter: “Simply because he is disturbing us, that’s all.”

Prabhupāda: “Your mind is always disturbing you all the time, because it is always with you. Your body is always with you. Are you not suffering from bodily pains? Why don’t you go to Yahya Khan to cure your pains? You are always in danger. Why don’t you realize that?”

Reporter: “We realize that this is a national disaster.”

Prabhupāda: “These are symptoms. People are trying to give a patchwork cure for the disease. We are giving the supreme cure. This is the difference. No patchwork cure will help you. You need a complete cure.

janma karma ca me divyam
evaṁ yo vetti tattvataḥ
tyaktvā dehaṁ punar janma
naiti mām eti so ’rjuna

The cure is no more repetition of birth and death. That is what we want. That is the benefit of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Yaṁ prāpya na nivartante / tad dhāma paramaṁ mama. If you go to Kṛṣṇa, then you don’t come back again to this material world.”

Reporter: “Sir, mine was a very hypothetical question. Suppose a hundred pure, saintly, Kṛṣṇa conscious people are meditating or discussing together, and someone comes along and drops the bomb – ”

Prabhupāda: “Those who are Kṛṣṇa conscious are not afraid of bomb. When they see a bomb coming, they think that Kṛṣṇa desired the bomb to come. A Kṛṣṇa conscious person is never afraid of anything. Bhayaṁ dvitīyābhiniveśataḥ syāt. One who has the conception that something can exist outside of Kṛṣṇa is afraid. On the other hand, one who knows that everything is coming from Kṛṣṇa has no reason to be afraid. The bomb is coming – he says, ‘Ah, Kṛṣṇa is coming.’ That is the vision of the devotee. He thinks, ‘Kṛṣṇa wants to kill me with a bomb. That is all right. I will be killed.’ That is Kṛṣṇa consciousness.”

When the reporter asked if the Vaiṣṇava would die without fighting, Prabhupāda said that the Vaiṣṇava would fight, but only under the direction of Kṛṣṇa, and he cited Arjuna and Hanumān as examples. He continued to explain Kṛṣṇa consciousness as the only solution. The blackout ended.